They say when the Crown Prince of Caelorth walks into a room, the air forgets how to breathe.
They weren't wrong.
I felt him before I saw him. Like a shift in pressure, a pulling tightness just behind my ribs. The throne room had been loud with rustling silks, murmured gossip, the occasional clink of ceremonial armor. But the moment he stepped through the towering palace doors, it went silent.
Not polite silence.
Instinctive.
Every noble. Every servant. Even the guards.
Still.
I was halfway through a sarcastic remark to Seraphina when my mouth simply stopped working. My voice trailed off like it knew better than to keep going.
Because there he was.
Kieran of Caelorth.
And he was... not what I expected.
He was tall. Of course he was. With broad shoulders wrapped in a deep obsidian cloak, the Caelorthian crest gleaming at his collarbone. His hair was dark, cropped close, like he didn't care for vanity. His jaw was sharp. His eyes were sharper.
But it was more than that.
It was the way the shadows clung to him. The way the floor seemed to know he was coming before his boots touched it. The way the candle flames flickered—just once, all at once—as if acknowledging something ancient had entered the room.
He walked like a man who did not doubt. Like the world had bent once before him, and might again. Even the Caelorthian guards who flanked him had the look of men who feared him more than they respected any king.
And those eyes—
Not red. Not glowing.
Just... wrong.
Too pale. Too focused. Like they weren't just looking at me, but through me. Past me. Like they already knew how I tasted when I lied. Like they were cataloguing all my weaknesses, just in case.
---
He stopped at the base of the dais. Bowed. Not deeply. Just enough to be respectful, not so much to submit.
"Your Majesty," he said, voice low and smooth, like winter wind over stone. "Princess."
I nodded, somehow.
My throat felt dry.
Father gave a warm, practiced welcome. Kieran listened, unreadable. When my father offered his hand, Kieran didn't hesitate—but he didn't smile either. His touch was brief. Intentional.
When he turned to me fully, I froze.
He studied me like a battlefield. Not in a cruel way. In an *assessing* one.
"Princess Chloe," he said.
His voice wrapped around my name like silk over a dagger.
I cleared my throat. "Crown Prince Kieran. Welcome to Veylinthia."
He inclined his head. "You hide your nerves well."
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
His expression didn't change. "Most people flinch. You didn't. That's... noteworthy."
Was that a compliment? A threat? A test?
I smiled sweetly. "Maybe I'm just good at pretending."
"Then we'll get along perfectly."
---
We walked together through the halls after the formalities.
Alone, save for two Caelorthian guards who followed at a polite-but-menacing distance. I could feel the heat of Kieran beside me, but it didn't warm me. If anything, I felt colder.
"I received your letter," I said.
"Good."
Silence.
I waited.
Nothing.
I glanced at him. "Are you always this talkative, or is it a special engagement gift?"
He looked at me. No smile. But his eyes... softened. Barely.
"Would you prefer empty charm?"
I hesitated.
"No. But maybe a little small talk. Something human."
He stopped walking. Turned.
Stepped just a little too close.
"And that's what you think I am? Human?"
My heart skipped. Not from fear. From... something else.
"Aren't you?" I asked quietly.
Kieran tilted his head. "I am what the world made me. And what it fears me to be."
Then he turned and kept walking, leaving me standing in the corridor with my pulse drumming and absolutely no idea what I'd just agreed to.
---
Dinner was a disaster.
Not outwardly, of course. The food was fine. The music was fine. The nobles were painfully polite. But the tension was thick enough to cut with a dull spoon.
Kieran sat beside me, all composure and cold elegance. He spoke only when spoken to. He didn't eat much. And when he did, it was in small, mechanical bites, like he was checking off a task rather than enjoying the meal.
Every time I looked at him, I caught someone else already doing the same—my father, the court ladies, even the guards.
He was the kind of man people watched.
Not because he demanded attention.
Because he didn't need to.
---
"Do you enjoy hunting?" one of the lords asked him, clearly trying to make conversation.
Kieran's eyes slid toward him. "No."
A pause. Then: "But I excel at it."
The lord went pale and didn't speak again.
I nearly choked on my wine.
---
Later that night, I sat by the window in my chambers, staring out at the Caelorthian banners that now hung beside our own.
My hands were still cold.
I thought about the way Kieran had looked at me.
Not with desire. Not even with disdain.
With something deeper.
Recognition.
Like he saw in me the same sharpness that lived behind his own eyes.
My future husband might not be a monster.
But he was definitely something.
And I wasn't sure whether I wanted to run, fight, or find out what would happen if
I touched him and didn't let go.
One thing was certain:
He hadn't come here to win my heart.
He'd come here to claim me.
And gods help me, I might just let him.